


Pretty Bird

by Not_You



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Animalistic, F/M, clint used to be a bird and still kind of is one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So there have been some stories where Clint is a transformed hawk, but someone prompted (of course I've lost the prompt) for budgie!Clint.  I could not resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Bird

All bullshit aside, Clint _loves_ his shower. He's still not sure if Tony knows or if Natasha just steered him in the right direction, but no one has made any smart fucking remarks, and he's free to enjoy it this morning and every other that finds him at the tower. The flow is less diffuse than a normal shower, and there's plenty of room for him to sidle in and out of it whistling his little morning song. He can't help but do the one he's always known, but when he finally hops out of his shower and fluffs his hair like he used to do his feathers, he sings in human voice. It doesn't matter what, and the idea of words in a song fascinates him. Today it's 'Such Great Heights', and he rolls it out light and high, savoring each note as he rattles around the kitchen. 

It is a day to make breakfast. His whole flock is here, evil has been recently vanquished, and they didn't lose a single civilian. They filter in slowly, drawn by sweet and savory smells, all of them in various states of disarray. None of them sing, but they greet him, and that's the important part. To hear each voice in the choir that means home now. He does his best not to bob his head too much, but is just so glad that everyone is safe and together and sharing food that he has to break into a bizarre little dance to explain the motion. They're used to it, though, and just laugh and get on with things. Sometimes he has to run off and swallow his own share back down, reminding himself again and again that a human flock doesn't share food that way. Today isn't one of those days, until Natasha comes in. He gestures to the different available jams, and bolts to the nearest bathroom, locking the door and leaning against it. He washes his hands and his face even though they're already washed, and looks at himself in the mirror until he feels mostly human again. He wishes he had his shades, but he doesn't and emerges to join the others again with naked eyes. They ask if he's all right, and he says he is, and spreads sweet strawberry jam on good bread packed with seeds.

After breakfast he cleans his weapons and himself, getting some preening done even if a human body doesn't need much, and then it's time for his favorite part of the day: sparring with Natasha. It's like playing in his original form, all light and quick and almost as much of it airborne. She reminds him of one of his own kind, with her bright red plumage and her precise, dainty movements. Close in, he likes the way she smells, and how strong she is. And it probably happens because he mostly wants it to, but he ends up pinned to the mat beneath her, staring up with his telltale eyes.

"...Clint?" She whispers, and touches his face in her concern, which just makes it all the worse. She's glowing and dimming with the rapid dilation and contraction of his pupils, and he whimpers, because there's no hiding it now. Her fingers run through his hair, and he chirps softly, tilting into the touch. She feels all over his head and all through his short hair and he can barely stand it, quivering under her. "Barton." Her voice is crisp, to cover her worry. "Are you all right?"

And all he can do is stare at her in a daze, and then he's kissing her like a real human, if maybe a little clumsy. Her mouth is warm and soft and slides easily against his own, as if they're meant to do this. His stomach lurches, and he scrambles out from under her. He barely makes it to a bathroom before he's hurling. For a human, it's just useless and messy, and he curses his transformation for being just that tiny bit incomplete. He cleans his mouth and wanders out, only for Jarvis to make him report to medical, because apparently poor Tasha thinks she's scrambled his brains. Well, okay. She has, but not that way. Naturally they find nothing wrong with him because nothing is, and he makes his way to Natasha's room when they let him go.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes."

"There are less painful ways to die than to imply that kissing me nauseates you to the point of vomiting, Barton." To prove that it doesn't, he kisses her again. And his stomach is empty and he's feeling very human with her breasts pressed against his chest. She bites him a little and it's like nibbling with a beak and makes him moan softly. Then she runs her nails over his scalp, preening his short hair and it's wonderful. He has no choice but to cheep in sheer joy, and Natasha laughs. "So strange."

"Bad strange?" He murmurs.

"No. Good strange." She nibbles his ear and he chirps again, melting. His eyes are pinning again, but Tasha is too busy to notice, and Clint prefers it that way. She's so soft against him, and he sighs, knowing that she would be red or yellow and that her feathers would be as smooth as all this pale skin. Clint has learned how to do this as a human, but they stop at hands and mouths because that's what Natasha wants and that's good. He can't help whistling and trilling and preening her afterwards, and she chuckles and snuggles close, studying him. "You know, I have heard about you."

"Oh?"

"That you were a bird before."

He can't help but squirm a little. "…I was."

"Yes, but even Sitwell thinks it was a hawk."

Clint blushes. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. I always wanted a pet budgie."


End file.
